


Bird Set Free

by lostmagician



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Dominance, Dubious Consent, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Psychic Bond, Slow Build, Submission, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-09-21 12:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmagician/pseuds/lostmagician
Summary: “I was broken and alone, I wanted the pain to end. And that’s when I realized the truth, Barry. God feels no pain. All I had to do was become one, and I only need two more things,” Savitar said wistfully. He held up one finger, “For Iris to die so that you are driven so far into the dark that I can be born.”“And the other?” Barry asked.A second finger joined the first. “For you to submit to me.”





	1. Savitar's Plan

“I was broken and alone, I wanted the pain to end. And that’s when I realized the truth, Barry. God feels no pain. All I had to do was become one, and I only need two more things,” Savitar said wistfully. He held up one finger, “For Iris to die so that you are driven so far into the dark that I can be born.”

“And the other?” Barry asked.

A second finger joined the first. “For you to submit to me.”

Barry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Submit to you,” he repeated blankly.

Savitar's lips curled into a small smile.

“What is that supposed to mean, for me to submit to you?” Barry's voice was low and rough.

Savitar's smiled widened, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “It means that after I kill Iris, you will no longer be allowed to make decisions alone. You’ve shown me that you cannot be trusted with the fate of the world between your hands.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “Soon, you will refer to me for every move you make, every step you take.”

Barry’s nostrils flared. “Over my dead body,” he grated out.

Savitar's smile dropped. “And you're going to learn how to talk to me. With _respect_ ,” he emphasized on the last word. “You know why, Barry?” He prowled forward, long legs closing the distance between them at a leisurely pace. “After all the things you've done - Flashpoint, changing the past, the future - all the deaths you've caused - Nora, Henry, Eddie - you still haven't paid the price.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Barry defended himself. “I did everything within my power to save them. Those deaths weren’t my fault.” 

Savitar stopped in his tracks. Barry couldn't decipher the look on his face - pity, sadness, disbelief. “Not - your - fault,” he restated. “Barry Allen changes the timeline to suit his needs. Whenever reality doesn't please him. No matter that people die, that people are hurt. Who cares that Cisco lost a brother, that Diggle lost a daughter,” Savitar sneered at him. “As long as you’re not the one affected, right? Let me tell you something, Barry. Your fate is in my hands now. You’re not going to change anything this time. There will be no more midnight strolls back to Flashpoint. From now on, I decide your future.” 

Barry’s jaw jutted out, as he mulled over the implication of Savitar’s words, but no matter the direction in which he flipped, stretched and inspected them, he still couldn’t discern their meaning.

He raised his arm and absently tugged at his collar with his index finger, his suit clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The stifling humidity of the night was pressing down on him, he was sweaty and hot and most importantly, he was _tired_. Every single muscle in his body was aching and sore, as though he'd spent all night fighting in a pit with a telepathic ape. He shifted slightly on his right foot to relieve the pressure off his left leg, feeling the unfamiliar twinge from where Caitlyn struck him with an ice blade, and Savitar's eyes dropped down. 

As another breeze blew against his face, Barry realized that Savitar was suddenly very aware of his body too. His eyes were slowing making their way up his figure, pausing every now and then - like he was analyzing, cataloguing every part of him and - somehow Barry felt _exposed_ , crawling sensation scuttling up his spine. He swallowed thickly, and Savitar's eyes snapped back to his face. 

Barry wasn’t going to let Savitar get the best of him. “You’re a time remnant, right? What happens if I kill myself?” He aimed a vibrating hand at his own chest, and ignored his instincts that screamed _no no no_. “If I die, then you'll never be created.” 

Savitar’s eyes lit up with delight. “Cause and effect is a tricky thing. Didn't work so well for Eddie, did it? Shot himself in the chest, Thawne's still kicking around.” He walked around like he had all the time in the world. “See that's the thing about time travel, Barry.” He faced Barry and spread out his arms. “The more you do it, the less the rules apply to you.” 

“But us having this conversation now, we're changing the future,” Barry pointed out. 

“Are we?” He asked casually, before taking a more determined tone. “My initial plan was to kill Iris, then sit back and watch you descend into madness. In your quest for revenge, you would have inadvertently produced the time remnant that would become Savitar. But then something happened… Something unexpected that even I couldn’t have predicted.”

He shook his head, and his voice dropped an octave. “You see, when you changed the past, you set off a chain of events that caused a ripple in the fabric of space and time. You’ve only seen the changes in your immediate surroundings,” he explained, as he waved a hand around him. “But the consequences have reached far and wide, and you’ve drawn the attention of someone who you would rather have ignore you until the end of your days. They consider Flashpoint to be an aberration, and they will not rest, they will not _sleep_ until they have destroyed every single human affected by your interference with the timeline.” 

Savitar paused, allowing the information to sink in. “Lucky for you, it is also in my best interest to terminate them. For this reason alone, I have changed my course of action. I don’t need you to create a time remnant of myself anymore.” Savitar’s eyes crackled with energy. “I’m going to break you until you don’t have anything but me to live for, and then once you’re shattered and alone, I’m going to hold you in my hands. I’m going to mold you, shape you in the god that I know you can become. I’m going to create myself.” 

If there was any shred of uncertainty before, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. There was no more question about it: Savitar was certifiably insane, and no amount of talking was going to change that. Barry bared his teeth. “That’s never going to happen. I would rather _die_ than become you.” 

“Oh, I think you’ll change your mind soon enough. Because whoever is coming after me? They’re bigger, scarier and more powerful than anything you’ve ever seen before, and you won’t stand a chance without me.” Savitar straightened himself to his full height and pointed menacingly at Barry. “Make no mistake, Barry. Once Iris is dead, you will be mine.” He dropped his hand and turned around as if to leave. 

 _This is my chance,_ Barry thought to myself. 

He flashed forward, and drew back his arm, ready to strike, when a powerful surge of light slammed into his chest, knocking the breath out of him, and he flung into the open air. He landed on his side, ears ringing, head spinning. 

He blinked hard a few times. When he regained his bearings, Savitar was towering over him with wide shoulders, crossed arms, and he looked royally _pissed_. The Speed Force thrummed through his body, slithering around his limbs in a tangle of blue-white energy. He had never seen that look on his own face before, and the intensity of it stole his breath away. Eyebrows furrowed, slightly bared teeth, he radiated fury with every atom. 

 _He looks like an angry god_ , a little voice said inside of him. Barry clamped down on the thought. 

“You know it's funny,” Savitar spit out, scarred lips twisting in an ugly sneer. “I don't remember being this stupid.” 

Barry had to leave _now_. 

He gathered all the energy he could, and flashed away, but he didn't get further than five feet away, when a strong hand locked around his ankle and yanked him back. His teeth connected violently as he smashed face first into the asphalt. 

He ignored the pain lancing through his jaw, kicked desperately at the hand, and prepared himself to flash again, red light crackling around his fingertips. He heard a surprised grunt, where his foot must have connected with his face, and used the momentum to propel himself forward. 

Once he launched into a run, it was only a matter of generating enough energy to maintain his speed. Barry was halfway across the block, electricity bouncing off the ground with every footfall, relief blossoming in his chest, when a brute force hit him in the back like a ton of brick, and hurled him across the street. 

His head knocked violently against the ground, pain flared as the front of his face was scraped raw from the drag of the asphalt. He blinked rapidly as sweat rolled into his eyes, and struggled to pull himself off the ground. His breath was coming in short pants, wet sound at the back of his throat, as thick blood soaked the roof of his mouth. He grunted when he realized that he was trapped under a heavy weight.

He vibrated with a crackling light, preparing for his next attempt, when arms clamped tightly around his elbows. He tried to buck off the weight, and flash again - one more inch, just one more inch, it's all he needed to gain momentum - before blue tendrils of electricity snaked around his torso, interfering with his kinetic energy. 

Barry slammed his head back forcefully, but Savitar dodged him. He moaned in pain when he felt a sharp sting on the back of his neck. 

“Left or right?” Savitar growled in his ear. 

Barry let out a scream of frustration. “What?” 

Suddenly, Savitar trapped Barry's left calf in between his legs, and _twisted_. Barry howled in pain. 

It felt like fire coursing through his veins, lighting up his every nerve, until all he saw was red. His entire body convulsed, stomach in knots, sinew and tendons contracting and spasming with every wave of pain. It felt like his limb had been ripped off. 

Savitar discarded his leg, and moved in to secure his other calf. 

Barry whimpered and struggled despite the searing pain, wounded little sounds escaping his burning throat. He attempted to free his arms, but Savitar had him pinned down like a ragdoll. 

“No,” he said through clenched teeth, spit dribbling down his chin. He smashed his forehead against the ground. “No, no, no.” Barry braced himself. 

“You should have answered the question.” Savitar said roughly. 

 _Snap._  

Barry screamed in agony - his chest heaved, once, twice, and then he was choking on his own vomit - struggling to breathe, and cough, and scream at the same time. His vision blurred, darkness chipping away at the edges, threatening to take him under. He nearly blacked out, until the putrid smell of butyric acid wafted up into his nostrils, triggering another retch, again and again, until there was nothing left inside of him. The strain on his neck was unbearable, and after what felt like an eternity, his head dropped and lolled against the asphalt. 

“That should slow you down for the next few days,” Savitar said in a gruff voice. 

Barry stared blearily at the ground and breathed slowly through the pain, taste of bile etched in the back of his throat. A string of mucus slid down the bow of his lips, and connected to the concrete. 

“I'm sorry I bit you,” Savitar said, sounding not sorry at all. Barry’s eyes crossed, as he sifted through his muddled mind and hazily remembered a sting on his neck. A drift of anger swam to the surface, before drowning beneath a new wave of pain. 

 _What about my legs, you stupid bastard._  

He grunted when he felt a soft, hot sensation push against the nape of his neck. His cheek flattened more fully against the puddle of vomit. He blinked slowly, wet eyelashes clumping together, and when he finally understood what the sensation was - 

Barry's lungs constricted. 

Savitar was licking him firmly with broad swipes of his tongue. Long, lazy strokes, like he had all the time in the world. He worried slightly at the skin in between his teeth, before soothing it over with the soft pad of his tongue. 

Barry clenched his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a flutter in his abdomen, a twitching sensation, like his stomach was going to rebel again, and he tried to concentrate on his breathing, to ground himself in the present, even though all he wanted to do was retreat in the safety of his mind. 

He pressed his lips tightly together. There was a pressure against his backside that he was trying very hard not to think about. 

Finally, Savitar let out a sigh, and dropped his head gently onto Barry's. He breathed hot puffs of air against the wet spot. Barry shivered. 

Savitar huffed a laugh, and rubbed his face against Barry's hair. “Soon, you will learn to obey me,” he said softly, it was a dark timbre that spoke of promise and certitude. “And you will be mine.” He combed his fingers gently through Barry's hair, nipped once at the fleshy hollow where his neck met his jaw, and when he spoke again, there was finality in his voice. “But first, Iris must die.” 

The hand caressed his hair one last time, lingering warmth of his palm penetrating through his skull, and then the weight lifted off his back. Before he knew it, the sound of whirring assaulted his ears, and a blinding light flashed behind his eyelids. 

Savitar was gone.


	2. A Decision is Made

“Let me see if I get this straight,” Iris said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You created a time remnant in the future, so that you could beat Savitar, and somehow this time remnant became Savitar. Meanwhile, Savitar discovered that a metahuman from the future was going to destroy him, and the only way he could defeat him was to create himself.”

“It’s really confusing,” Wally said, rubbing his chin.

Barry sighed tiredly and picked at a loose thread on his shorts. “I know, it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand it myself.”

He didn’t mean to sound so downcast, but the sight of his legs depressed the hell out of him. Big, white blocks of plaster that encased his limbs from foot to mid-thigh, effectively preventing him from making any movement whatsoever. He couldn’t even wiggle his toes.

He released the strand and pushed his palms against the mattress to relieve the ache in his spine. Joe immediately appeared by his side and fluffed the pillow behind his back. Barry nodded his thanks.

As the team discussed the intricacies of the chicken and egg scenario, Barry reflected back to the night before.

After Savitar left him, he had no choice but to place an emergency call through his earpiece – Wally had been there in fifteen seconds flat. _Oh my God, Barry_ – he’d chocked on a gasp, and fallen to his knees, his long fingers grazing the back of Barry’s leg, causing him to whimper in pain - _I’m sorry, I need to flip you over._ He’d shook his head desperately, he couldn’t handle the _pain. I’m so sorry, Barry, I need to. This is going to hurt, I’m so so sorry –_ and then it felt like his legs were being stabbed with a thousand knives over and over again – Wally had kept talking, soothing voice coming in and out of focus _– It’s okay, Barry, everything’s going to be okay –_ but Barry was screaming, his nerves were on _fire_ , and just as Wally’s worried face had come into view, his vision had faded to black.

The next time he had opened his eyes, Iris was watching him anxiously from the side of the bed in S.T.A.R Labs. Both of his legs were in casts, and the pain had subsided to a constant, dull ache. Cisco had said it was the worst compound fracture he had ever seen. His broken fibulae had pierced through his skin in a mangled mess of ligaments and connective tissue; red blood soaking the fibers of his suit.

“But isn’t that some kind of paradox?” Wally asked Cisco. “How could Savitar change his past, and still be Savitar?”

Cisco shook his head slowly. “It’s a bit far-fetched, but it _could_ happen. If Barry was fully on board and determined to become Savitar, then it would seem as though Savitar had created himself.”

Barry pursed his lips. That explained Savitar’s second part of the plan – something he conveniently left out when he recounted the story to the team. Shame tugged at him, twisting in his gut. He also couldn't tell them about... the other thing. He was having trouble coming to terms himself with what had happened, and the last thing he needed was for everyone to worry about him.

Anyways, the only person who would have understood him was Caitlyn. A familiar ache burrowed under his rib at the thought of her. For the tenth time that day, he rubbed fretfully at the back of his neck. The wound had healed the fastest, it was merely a fading bruise now, but he could still feel phantom strokes that instinctively made him want to hunch his shoulders and curl up into a ball.

“This metahuman from the future,” Julian interrupted his thoughts. “Savitar said it’s going to destroy everybody that was affected by Flashpoint.”

There was a long silence, in which everybody seemed to mull over the implication.

“In my Earth, there’s a scenario that was created by philosophers, a sort of thought experiment if you will,” HR said, as he drummed his sticks against the table. “An employee sees a runaway trolley moving toward an aisle with five people. He has two choices: either he does nothing, thus allowing the trolley to badly injure the five people, or he could divert it to a different aisle, where it would injure only one person. Which choice does he make?”

Cisco squinted at him. “ _That’s_ your Earth’s equivalent of the trolley dilemma? A trolley in a supermarket?”

“What other trolley would it be?” HR said with a smile on his face.

“What reason do we have to believe anything that Savitar says anyways?” Wally cut in with raised eyebrows. “He could just be lying, especially if he thinks that it will get him what he wants.”

“True,” Cisco conceded. “But is that a chance we’re willing to take?” He turned to Barry with a determined look on his face. “What we need at this point is more information about this metahuman. Where is he from? What are his powers?”

“Did Savitar tell you when he’s coming?” HR asked.

Barry frowned, as he thought back to his conversation with Savitar. “No, he didn’t go into much detail. He just gave me the general impression that it was soon,” he said, lifting his shoulders in apology.

HR just hummed and turned to ask Cisco if there was any way to vibe metahumans from the future.

Barry breathed a little easier, when everybody’s focus shifted to Cisco’s answer. He couldn’t stand being the center of attention, especially when he wasn’t being completely truthful with them.

He raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck and wondered again why he thought it was such a good idea to hide important information from his friends. What Savitar had said about Barry obeying him, that was some crazy stuff right there – and he didn’t have enough hindsight to examine the situation objectively. He needed somebody else’s perspective on the matter.

Was Savitar just messing with his mind? Was this all an elaborate plan destined to trick him into wasting valuable time and resources on stopping him? Or did he seriously think Barry was going to submit to him willingly?

_Soon, you will be mine._

His face flushed, as the memory slithered through his mind, uninvited, seeping through his brain like poison. What did Savitar mean by that? The words had been whispered to him like a promise, voice deep and throaty, like Savitar would – like he would _enjoy_ it. A powerful feeling of revulsion swept over him and his nose scrunched in disgust. The thought of Savitar fantasizing about him was perverse and _wrong_. How could his future self even _think_ about these things? What the hell was wrong with him?

Barry took a long, steady breath and tried to slow down his rapid heartbeat. He told himself that these thoughts weren’t helping: they weren’t bringing him any closer to finding a solution, they were only worsening his anxiety. There were more productive things to consider, like _how the hell was he going to save Iris?_ With that resolve and intent, he set his feelings aside, and refocused his attention on the conversation at hand.

When he looked up, his heart sank. The team was gathered around the whiteboard, arguing over the complexities of the timeline, except for HR. He was staring straight at Barry, head tilted curiously to the side, eyes following the movement of his arm.

Barry released the back of his neck like he’d been burned, and cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan now?”

 

***

 

 _I’m begging you,_ Barry’s voice cracked. Iris called out his name, tears in her eyes. Savitar’s chest rumbled, as he unsheathed his silver blade, sharp edge glinting in the slanting moonlight. _You lose, Barry –_ his words echoed in the obscurity and then in a swooping motion, he thrust his blade into Iris’ back. No, not Savitar – it was _Barry_ who struck her. The suit weighed down on him, heavy metal resting on his shoulders. He watched as the blade pierced her skin, but he could also see it _emerge_ from the other side.

He was both Barry and Savitar at the same time.

Whereas Barry’s mind was a raging sea of thoughts and emotions, Savitar’s mind was a wide, steel cage. His determination was as cold and precise as his blade. Killing Iris was only a means to an end, she was a pawn in a long, complex game of chess. Savitar had assessed the situation, examined the chain of potential moves and countermoves, and made a calculated decision to end her life.

_Iris had to die._

Barry woke up with a start, sweat beading on his forehead. He turned to his side, eyes searching in the darkness. Iris was curled up on her side with both her hands tucked underneath her cheek. He stayed still a few moments just watching her peaceful face.

He could still feel the phantom weight of Savitar’s armor, he could hear the _woosh_ of the blade cutting through the air, feel the muscles contract as he shoved the blade into Iris’ back. He remembered thinking that he had no choice but to kill Iris. He let out a breath slowly and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

As he laid back on the bed, he tried to think about things rationally. If what Savitar said was true, he grew up the same as Barry. Son to Nora and Henry Allen, he took his first baby steps in a small suburban house on the outskirts of a middle-class town, he had favorite Saturday morning cartoons, and a passion for astronomy and science fiction novels.

It's not like he was born with psychotic tendencies. He’d never skinned the neighbor’s cat or lit up candles to try and commune with the devil. Yeah, his mother had been murdered, his father wrongfully imprisoned. He wasn't going to deny that it had wreaked havoc on his life, planted a seed of anger, of injustice deep in his psyche, which would plague him for years to come. But then Joe had welcomed him into his heart, with no strings attached, and he had met Iris.

Barry could not imagine any part of him that would ever want to kill Iris. Even when he was possessed by Rainbow Raider, and white hot anger coursed through his veins, he couldn't lift a finger at her, because deep down inside, a little part of him held onto his memories of her: the crinkle in her eyes when she smiled, the way she scrunched her cute button nose when she was unsure about something, the arch of a perfectly plucked eyebrow when she questioned him.

He sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, where he rested his elbows on his knees.

It had been three days since his meeting with Savitar and they still hadn't found a solution. Cisco had suggested temporarily wiping his memory, to prevent Savitar from learning about their strategy, but he had categorically refused.

First of all, he didn't know if any physical alteration would affect Savitar. He had broken the chain of cause and effect the moment he had decided to pursue his crazy plan of turning Barry into himself. Second, what strategy? They had been banking on the creation of the Speed Force Bazooka, an interdimensional quantum splicer that would have trapped Savitar in the Speed Force. But Tracy, as smart as she was, had been unable to work under pressure. They had tried to plead with her to stay, however no amount of begging could convince her to continue her work. She had left them with tears in her eyes.

Barry palmed the back of his head in frustration. His mind reverted to Flashpoint for the billionth time. His legs were nearly healed now; except for the odd twinge here and there, he could run at full capacity. He could _do it_ , all he needed to do was to suit up and get going. But then he recalled Savitar's scarred face, wrinkled skin distending and twisting, as he warned him not to tamper with the timeline.

Barry felt a tinge of annoyance as he recalled how Savitar had blamed him for Flashpoint. If anything, it was _Thawne’s_ fault, he was the one who stole Wells’ identity, so that he could create the particle accelerator faster and return to his own time. Also _, he killed Barry’s mother._ How much more could you mess up the timeline? Barry was only trying to fix the past that was stolen from him.

He imagined himself returning to Flashpoint, let his mind wander to the endless possibilities. That was the problem; travelling through time was akin to playing a game of Russian roulette. He had no chance of knowing which actions would cause a bullet to propel into the future and rip through the people he held dear. There were too many uncertainties. Jay had compared Flashpoint to a broken coffee cup. You could reset the timeline, try to fix it, but no matter how hard you tried, it was never going to be exactly how it was. The analogy had irritated Barry, and to be honest, it still did; as long as his family and friends were alive and well, he didn’t care about minor changes in the timeline.

Barry clenched his jaws. The clock was ticking, and he couldn’t just lay around _doing_ _nothing_ , he had to find a solution. Other than Flashpoint, what choice did he have? He racked his brain, thinking of every machine that Cisco had invented, every theory that Wells had discovered – surely there was some piece of knowledge, some nugget of information that could help him.

He felt a movement behind him. His heart rate picked up, as the bed dipped and lean arms wrapped around his chest.

“Can't sleep?” Iris asked in a sleep-muddled voice. He could feel her soft breath against his neck. His hairs stood on end and he shivered.

“Just thinking about Flashpoint,” he said, as he kissed the inside of her elbow.

She hummed, and draped herself further over his back, chin slotting in next to his neck. There was a hush of expectant silence that told him that she was listening, and God knew she had enough on her plate already. But Barry couldn’t hold it in – the frustration had been mounting since his meeting with Savitar, and it was threatening to spill over in a cocktail of anger and desperation.

“I just want to be in a timeline where all my family and friends are happy and healthy,” he continued in a low voice. “Is that too much to ask? Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

 _What kind of hero are you going to be?_ Jay had asked him, his sharp brown eyes darting back and forth. _Are you just going to take a do-over every time you make a mistake? Or are you going to live with them and move forward?_

No, he couldn't live, knowing that that he hadn't done everything in his power to save Iris. She was a blessing to the world, and the only true constant in his life since his mother’s death. In primary school, when the truth had come out that his father was convicted of murder – when words of pity had turned into snide remarks, pats on the shoulder had morphed into pushing and shoving, Iris had been there beside him every step of the way. They had spent countless hours in the backyard, practicing hand combat skills and self-defense moves. She had taught him how to pull punches, dodge kicks, and on one memorable occasion, she’d showed him the best way to aim a knee at someone’s crotch. And then in high school, when he had struggled with his body image, Iris had been his sole confidant. As a matter of fact, she had been the one to sound the alarm, when she’d noticed a worrying trend in his eating habits.

Barry’s lips twisted sourly; the memory of that time left a bad taste in his mouth. It was still raw, barely beneath the surface of his conscious mind.

He didn’t want to think about it, so he turned around in a flash and caught Iris by the waist. She gasped, and for a moment, he was afraid that he had scared her.

But then her lips curled into a sweet smile that stole Barry’s breath away.

“I love you,” he said firmly, and he meant every word, every vowel and every consonant.

Her smile tugged into a grin, face flushing in pleasure, and she mumbled his name, embarrassed, and burrowed her face into his neck. He lay her down slowly, and she threw a leg over his thighs and snuggled closer. He inhaled deeply, the smell of her perfume rushing over him and igniting _something_ inside of him.

This time when his mind went to Flashpoint, he didn’t suppress the thought. He let it unfold like an origami, his nimble fingers smoothing over every pleat, every crease, until the image of another Iris came together.

Iris, laughing. Iris, talking, dancing. _Iris, alive._ This was all he ever wanted, and if it meant erasing himself from her life - if that’s what it took to keep her alive, then he wasn’t going to waste another breath.

 _I’d rather die than become you._ Isn’t that what he’d told Savitar?

For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of peace descend on him. He was going to do this. He was going to return to Flashpoint. And honestly, why wouldn’t he? Because Savitar said so? Barry almost scoffed at the thought.

He tightened his arm around Iris and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

When her body went lax against him, he reached for his phone, careful not to jostle her, and started typing a message.

_Meeting tomorrow morning at 7am at STAR Labs._

He selected the names of Cisco, Julian and HR, and then his thumb hovered over the _Send_ button. He checked the time at the top of the screen: 1:34. The day before, Julian had suggested a guy’s night out at The Red Lounge. Barry had muttered an excuse and ducked out of the room, but not before hearing HR squeal in excitement, and he knew for a fact that an excited HR would not go without a Cisco.

He returned to the message and tacked on - _URGENT_. He pressed on send.


	3. Return to Flashpoint

“So,” Barry exclaimed, clapping his hands once.

HR swiveled in his chair and giggled, a silly little laugh that echoed in the Cortex.

Barry was pretty sure he was still drunk from last night. His hair was mussed, black-rimmed glasses askew, and he had a yellow stain on the collar of his shirt. He gave himself another spin and giggled again, this time a bit louder, eliciting a groan from the chair beside him.

His eyes flitted to Cisco, who was hunched over his knees with his hands over his ears. His hair looked like a bird’s nest, black hair tangled up in a mass of greasy strands, and he was dressed in grey jogging pants and an oversized hoodie. Barry let out a tired sigh, and allowed his eyes to wander to the last of the winning trio.

Julian was sitting ramrod straight on the edge of his seat and staring numbly in front of him, with no expression whatsoever. Barry squinted at him. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he was being possessed by Savitar.

Fifteen seconds later, when Julian still hadn’t blinked, Barry started to worry. He was about to flash forward and wrestle him to the ground, when suddenly, there was a flurry of movement. Julian scrambled for the trash can under the desk, plastic bag crinkling under his fingertips, and proceeded to puke his guts out. Barry wrinkled his nose, as the smell of vomit wafted in the air.

It was the memory of Savitar that snapped him back to reality.

This wasn’t going to be an easy talk, but he didn’t have any choice left. It had been a long night; after tossing and turning for an hour, he’d given up on sleep and spent the rest of the night creating a plan to return to Flashpoint. His plan wasn’t perfect, but it’s all he had, and if he wanted it to have any chance of working, he needed everyone on board – especially Cisco. With that resolve in mind, he pulled back his shoulders and steeled himself.

“I want to return to Flashpoint.”

Three heads whipped up in perfect synchronicity, and Barry felt their stares like a heavy weight on his chest.

“B.A.,” HR broke the silence, smile painted on his face. “I think I’m still a bit drunk, because I just heard you say you want to return to Flashpoint.”

“That’s exactly what he just said,” Cisco said sharply. His jaw was set tight, and his dark eyes were burning holes into Barry.

Barry concentrated on keeping a relaxed posture. He had played this conversation over and over in his head, and he knew for a fact that nothing he could have said would have made the blow any easier. He said the words that he’d rehearsed all night, carefully to keep his voice even, “Please believe me when I say that I wouldn’t be asking this, if I didn’t think it was my last resort.”

Cisco leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. His voice sounded anguished when he spoke again. “I cannot believe this is happening -”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past, and nothing I can do now will fix that. I know that with what happened to Dante –”

“Barry, you better stop talking this second, or _I_ _swear to God_ I will vibe you to another dimension,” Cisco cut him off. He shot out of his chair and paced back and forth, massaging his temples with both hands. “I cannot believe this.” He skidded to a halt in front of Barry and joined his palms together in front his lips. “Let me get this straight. I ask you to save Dante, you say no. Then, I find out that you traveled back in time to save your parents -”

“I didn’t – ”

Cisco whipped up an angry finger, effectively shutting him up. “And that you actually caused Dante’s death,” he continued heatedly. “And now you want to return to Flashpoint to save Iris. Am I understanding things correctly?”

“If I return to – ”

“It’s a yes or no question, Barry,” Cisco raised his voice.

“Fine, yes!”

Cisco shook his head slowly, frowning in disbelief. “Why are you telling us? You could have just returned to Flashpoint, and we would have been none the wiser.”

Barry swallowed thickly, trying hard to regain his composure. When he spoke again, there was a tremble in his voice. “This time, I’m going to create the breach in the Speed Lab, and I need to make sure I don’t screw things up.”

“When?” Cisco asked sharply.

“March 22nd, 2000.”

“That’s a few days after your mother’s death,” Julian said quietly. He was leaning forward in his chair with confusion in his eyes.

But of course, Cisco immediately understood.

“Oh,” he said. “ _Oh_ , I see. And does Iris know?” Cisco asked him with raised eyebrows. “Does she know that you’re about to change her entire life?”

“Please,” Barry begged him. “If Iris had never met me, none of this would have ever happened.”

“So this is your master plan?” Cisco exploded, voice echoing in the Cortex. “Did you even think this through? If Joe hadn’t taken you in, there’s a high chance you would have ended up in a foster home. Do you know what happens to the foster kid whose dad is a convicted murderer?”

Barry knew exactly what happened; he had enough experience on his job to know the dark side of the foster system. “That’s why I need your help. I can _prove_ my father’s innocence. I just need to travel back in time with the video of Wells’ confession.”

He had thought about it all night; it was the only way he could erase himself from Iris’ life without obliterating the timeline and attracting the wrath of the Time Wraiths.

Cisco stared at him with a stubborn jut in his jaw. “The video wouldn’t survive the alteration to the timeline.”

Barry took a step forward. “It could if we protected it.” But Cisco was already shaking his head. Was he disagreeing, or just annoyed at the use of the word _we_? Barry didn’t know, he felt like he was grasping at straws, so he continued talking. “We can use the last fragment of the Philosopher’s Stone. It’s pure, calcified Speed Force energy, maybe if we could use it to create some kind of container, I could transport the video safely to Flashpoint.”

Cisco scoffed. “A Cosmic Time Capsule? That’s your solution?”

“Yes, it’s a good plan,” he said, wringing his hands. “With the video intact, I get to go back in time, and free my father from prison. Which means I would never meet Iris, and Savitar would never hold her as leverage over me.”

Seconds trickled by, and Cisco remained silent. He worked his jaw back and forth, and Barry knew that he was being taken seriously. He could see it in the furrow of his eyebrows and the purse of his lips; the cogs were turning and the wheels were spinning. Cisco was weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

Barry fidgeted with the ring on his finger, and tried to convey his desperation with his eyes. _Come on, Cisco, please believe me when I say it_ _’s the only way._ He didn’t have a back-up plan. This was all he could come up with, and in a few days, he wasn’t even going to have the choice anymore. It was now or never.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cisco let out a long breath. “I hate you,” he said in a shaky voice, and it sounded like he meant it. Barry’s eyes watered, surprised at how much the words hurt. “I hate you, because now I have to choose between helping _you_ ,” he spit out angrily, bloodshot eyes set on Barry, “and watching one of my closest friends die. I’ve vibed the future time and time again, hoping that I could change it, that I could _save_ her. I’ve watched her die more times than I could count, each time knowing that we were going to fail her.” Despite the harsh words, Barry’s heart picked up. “So, I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for Iris.”

Relief flooded through his veins, and he nodded at Cisco. He wanted to hug him, show him how much it meant to him, but he settled for saying "Thank you" instead. He didn't think a hug would pass well. Cisco was giving off some serious _don't touch me_ vibes, as he returned to his desk and turned on his computer.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater, and looked around. HR had fallen asleep on his chair, with his head dropped back and drool spilling down his chin. Julian quirked a small smile at him.

Barry exhaled shakily. Everything was going to be okay.

 

***

 

“All right, Barry,” Julian said in his ear. “This is it.”

Barry stretched his calves and rotated his ankles. “Thanks for believing in me, Julian. I know how hard it is for all of you to let me do this.” He said sincerely, popping his knuckles one by one.

Julian blew out a breath in the microphone. “Yeah, well we've got to save Iris, right?” He hesitated a bit. “And maybe, if you get back to Flashpoint, Caitlyn will go back to normal?” He said with a hopefully tilt in his voice.

“I'm hoping for it,” Barry said, and wished with all his heart that it was true. He released the earpiece and looked down at Cisco’s latest making resting on his belt. He’d converted the video to a format that was compatible with cameras of the year 2000, and encased it in a small container that he’d crafted with a melted fragment of the stone.

For the first time in a long time, Barry felt hope blossom in his chest. He nodded to himself, and dropped down on one knee, hands on the floor.

He cleared his mind, and revved himself up, a low hum of steady electricity travelling though his body, spreading to his limbs. He uncurled his toes, and concentrated on the ground under his feet. When he felt the Speed Force thrumming in his veins, he gathered himself and launched forward.

With every lap he completed, he gained speed, going faster and faster, energy buzzing through his limbs and spurts of light flying off his fingertips. Pain travelled up his legs with every slap of his feet on the concrete, but he ignored it, he knew he was going to regret this later, but he had to do this. He was _going_ to do this, he was going to fix everything. He couldn't predict the exact outcome of his actions, nobody could, but all that mattered to him was Iris, alive.

Barry could see the portal forming, every lap strengthening the web of its existence. As he got ready to leap, he clenched his jaws against the force, and pushed his foot against the ground, soaring headfirst over the threshold, and then blackness surrounded him. It was like running through Jell-O, every kick of his legs and swing of his arms fighting against the tide.

Then suddenly, something hard and unforgiving clasped around his legs, and it was like he was being sucked into a vacuum, pressure bearing down on him and popping his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, as his face landed on concrete. A hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his feet.

“When will you ever learn?” Savitar said through gritted teeth.

He slammed Barry against the wall, cracking his skull, and jammed an arm against his throat. Barry's right hand came up, ready to strike, but then Savitar's eyes lit up, and tendrils of kinetic energy snapped around his wrists and ankles, like coiled rope, and locked them against the pipes. Barry bucked against the restraints, letting out a scream of frustration, he could barely move an inch. Savitar chuckled darkly.

“Neat trick, huh?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye. “I thought I would have to get a bit more creative to keep you... contained.” Then, a hand was snatching the Cosmic Time Capsule from his belt. “Oh, now you’re just trying _really_ hard to piss him off.”

“Why are you doing this?” Barry yelled, tendons sticking out starkly against his neck.

Savitar drew his face closer, until they were only a breath away. “Because I can,” he replied, and he was enjoying this _way too much_. Something ugly rose inside of Barry, he bared his teeth and spit in his face.

Savitar froze. The glob had landed on his cheek and was now trickling slowly down to his chin.

Eyes fixed somewhere south of Barry's chin, his nostrils flared, and then very slowly, he wiped the saliva with one finger. His eyes snapped up, and Barry exhaled sharply.

His right eye was framed by scarred tissue, a swirl of milky white film over the green that Barry knew was underneath. But it was the other eye that took Barry’s breath away. He could barely distinguish the rim of his iris, as it was swallowed up by a pool of inky darkness.

Savitar parted his lips, pink tongue peaking between his teeth, before his cheeks pointedly hollowed and he swallowed his finger down to the knuckle, pumping in and out, two, three times, before withdrawing it with a pop.

“I like it when you fight me,” he whispered throatily, lips slick and shiny with saliva. He pushed down Barry's cowl, until it bundled around his neck. “It gives me an excuse to punish you.”

His hand moved to the back of Barry's neck, searching, and the corners of his mouth drooped a little when his wet finger grazed smooth skin.

Savitar hummed thoughtfully. “I have a lot of plans for you, Barry Allen. You may not see it now, but eventually you will understand that I am doing this for the greater good.” Leather crinkled, as Savitar rested his right hand underneath his belt, thumb slotted in the sensitive hollow of his hip.

Barry pressed his lips together and glared at him. He prayed that Cisco and the others noticed that he'd stopped running.

As if he read his mind, Savitar shook his head, smiling like something was funny. “Nobody is coming any time soon.”

The hand crawled slowly toward the front of his suit, and Barry knew instinctively what was going to happen. Panic seized him and he positioned himself on tiptoes, attempting to avoid the inevitable, when a hot hand closed softly around his crotch. Barry slammed his head against the wall and grunted, wrestling desperately against the binds. He bared his teeth in anger, but Savitar was relentless, unstoppable.

Fingers traced the length of his cock, feeling its shape, palpating the ridges, before cupping him in this hollow of his palm, cradling him like a precious treasure.

“Get your hands off me,” Barry ordered through clenched jaws, because it was the only way to suppress the rattling of his teeth, the tremor in his voice.

Savitar's hand began moving slowly, up and down, alternating between soft and hard caresses, all the while he stared at him intensely, drinking in his features, scrutinizing his every reaction.

No.

To his horror, a familiar heat pooled in his belly, settled inside of him like a blanket, and he started hardening, slowly but surely, cock fattening up with every stroke.

Savitar's lip curled on one side, and Barry clenched his knuckles and dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

He tried to school his features, maintain an angry expression, but then a thumb rubbed over the head, and his upper lip twitched against his will. Savitar's heavy-lidded eyes zeroed in to his mouth, breath coming in soft puffs, he looked intoxicated. He swiped again, and Barry spasmed in pleasure again, warmth curling up his spine.

It doesn't mean anything, his mind was quick to rationalize. It's normal. A hand was touching him, his own hand, and it knew what he liked, it was _familiar_ , everything was so familiar, from the shape of the hand to the masculine scent, it was normal for him to get hard. But another voice inside of him, more powerful, recoiled in disgust, appalled that he would even _enjoy_ this.

His cock was now at full mast, straining against the confines of his leather suit. Savitar kept speeding up his hand, leading him on the brink, before slowing down, denying him release, _teasing_ him. His entire body shuddered, and a groan escaped him, he was so _close_.

In his haziness, he realized that the pressure around his torso had loosened and his hands were clutching Savitar's shoulders, kneading rhythmically in tune with the firm grip on his cock. He had been so busy panicking, he didn’t even remember raising his arms. This was his moment. Savitar's guard was down, all he needed to do was to get his legs moving, and get the hell out of dodge. His nails dug into the meat of Savitar's muscles. Why weren't his legs _moving_?

He could hear the sounds of footsteps rapidly approaching, pit patter bouncing against the walls. Savitar smirked, and Barry couldn’t stand the look of him. He bared his throat, eye squeezed shut, he was going to - He couldn't hold it anymore. Savitar had stopped moving his hand, and Barry was - he was rolling his hips, rutting against him, like a bitch in heat, like he _wanted_ this. Blood pumped through his ears, and he flushed in humiliation at how debauched he must look. But he didn't care, he just needed to - his muscles tightened, seizing in anticipation, toes curling, all he needed was one more thrust, he was almost there -

Then, a flash of light, stinging pain, and he wasn't leaning against the wall anymore. He was standing, hunched over in the middle of the runway like a puppet without strings, panting heavily, Savitar was gone, and he looked up just as Cisco, HR and Julian came into sight.

_He was going to explode._

Their frantic eyes scanned the surroundings for danger, and when they didn't find anything, fluttered over his body, searching for any sign of a wound.

Slowly, Barry straightened up on shaky legs, choked off a moan when the leather of his suit pulled tight against his cock. He had to restrain himself from checking if a bulge was visible.

“Dude, what happened?” Cisco asked, swiping his glasses into his shaggy hair.

It took every fiber of his being not to move. A drop of sweat beaded and rolled down his temple. His stomach cramped, abdominal walls rippling, trying to stave off the orgasm.

He was in _pain_.

“Hey, man. Are you okay?” Cisco stepped a little closer, forehead wrinkling in concern. “You don't look too good.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he said, and Cisco's eyebrows flew up, because his voice was _wrecked_.

“Barry, you sound like shit,” HR broke in, with a humorous smile on his face. He lowered the drum stick that he had been gripping like a sword.

“Yeah, and your face is all flushed, and you're quivering like a leaf. Maybe you're coming down with something?” Cisco asked, voice full of concern.

He felt disgusting, just standing there with the biggest hard-on in the universe, while they eyed him worriedly.

“Hmm, it looks like there's something dribbling down your neck,” Julian said uncertainly, waving in the general direction of his throat.

Barry's nostrils flared, and he blindly reached up to feel around his neck, anything to get his mind off his hard cock, but when his fingers reached the nape of his neck - _The bastard bit me again,_ he thought hysterically - his nerves exploded in a burst of pain, and his hips snapped forward, thighs shaking, he was going to – he had to leave _now_ \- kinetic energy surged from his body, engulfing him, spreading through his limbs and setting his body in motion – and then he was writhing on the floor of the Time Vault, the heel of his hand pressed against his cock. His moans echoed obscenely in the small room, and his hips undulated as he came, rolling again and again, riding out the waves of pleasure, shudders wracking through his body.

As he winded down from his orgasm, his heavy pants tapered off into sobs, and soon he was curled up in a ball, with his face pressed into the ground.

He’d never come so hard in his life.


	4. Going Home

He couldn't go the loft, even though he was certain that Iris wasn't there. She'd insisted on going to work every day, regardless of what was going to happen to her, and he'd encouraged her, determined to sustain a level of normalcy in their fucked-up lives.

But the loft was new, they'd barely lived there for five months, not long enough to create long-lasting memories and most importantly, to generate a feeling of home. It wasn't even purchased with that intent, only desperation born out of fear. The fear of a timeline where Iris died without an engagement ring on her finger.

So, he went to the only home he knew, the place that elicited memories of game nights on Saturdays, summers spent camping in the backyard, and Joe's homemade spaghetti _à la me_.

Barry scrubbed every inch of his body, luffa scraping roughly against his skin, careful to avoid the back of the neck. He couldn't stop seeing Savitar's face, his infuriating smirk, as he watched him come undone before his very eyes. He couldn’t believe it, it was like it had happened to somebody else.

It was so fucking humiliating.

He grit his teeth. He was angry, so so _angry_ , it bubbled inside of him, simmering beneath the surface and threatening to burst through his skin.

 _He warned you not to tamper with the timeline,_ a little voice said inside of him.

Barry swallowed a scream. No, it was more than that; this was a display of dominance, Savitar’s way of showing that he was in control, always in fucking control. He couldn’t stand it when things didn’t go according to his plan.

And then he remembered the others, the way they had arrived on scene, how he’d almost been discovered in his debauched state. The memory of Cisco's anxious eyes flashed through his mind, the way HR attempted to cover up his unease with humor, Julian's hesitant voice as he pointed out that his - Barry chucked the luffa and gripped his hair, as another wave of embarrassment overcame him. The memories raced through his mind like a stack of cards, shuffling rapidly one after the other, over and over again.

Savitar's smirk. Cisco's eyes. HR's smile. Julian's hand.

And then the time vault, and the way he -

He punched the wall, ceramic tile cracking beneath his knuckles. But he couldn’t feel anything. He felt numb, like he was detached from his body, and he couldn't breathe anymore.

The question tormented him. How? How could he have _enjoyed_ it?

Maybe there was something fucking wrong with him. Something terribly wrong, because if he looked at the facts: his future self tracked him down, tied him up, and proceeded to - to - Barry flinched.

No. He wasn't going to define what had happened.

He thought of that word whispered shamefully, and in secret, by men and women alike. In his line of work, it translated into mangled corpses, twisted and bloody, it meant snapping open his briefcase, and scraping humans cells from underneath dirty fingernails, searching for lacerations and bruises in strategic places, inspecting stains with cotton swabs.

This wasn't it. There was no penetration, no real violence behind what had occurred. He'd willingly spread his legs and thrust his hips in search for pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm he’d ever had in his entire life.

Then, why did he feel so violated?

He clenched his knuckles and pressed them against his closed eyelids, bursts of white exploded in his field of vision, white like snow, and then suddenly, he remembered Caitlyn, and it was like the last nail in the coffin. He felt like he was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. The idea of Caitlyn - _it's Killer Frost now_ , her haughty voice echoed in his head - her, being in on this, knowing what had happened, he flushed in humiliation.

Would she have laughed about it? As Savitar recounted how Barry Allen spread his legs and humped him like a dollar-dime whore. He opened his eyes, and his vision swam, world zooming in and out of focus, he held onto the shower handle to steady himself, and then his abdomen rippled, entire body convulsed, he bent over and retched onto the shower floor, scalding water beating mercilessly on his back. The smell rose to his nostrils, and he cried brokenly at the onslaught of memories that it conjured up, of broken legs and desperation.

The heat was getting to his head. He shut off the water and drew back the shower curtains. He patted himself down with a towel as he hurried into his room, and rummaged through his drawers for clean underwear. He grabbed a pair of black boxers and slipped them on. Then, he paused. Something felt _wrong_. He covered his crotch with a hand and bit his lip. The cotton felt too thin, too flimsy, like it didn’t offer enough protection. He eyed the drawer again, and in a split decision, he seized another pair.

It was a bit snug around the crotch but he felt better, safer. He chose a pair of thick black jeans and for a second, he considered wearing a turtle neck. His fingers grazed the wound at the nape of his neck, and he shivered, face crumpling up. He couldn’t even remember the moment that Savitar bit him. It had happened so fast. One moment he was leaning against the wall and then – Barry made a distressed noise in his throat and covered his face with his hands.

The memories assaulted him again, and he hunched his shoulders, a cocktail of anger and shame warring inside of him. His hands shook with the desire to shield his crotch, to hide the back of his neck, to latch his arms around his legs and protect his knees. Instead, he gritted his teeth and slapped himself once, twice, on both cheeks, one after the other.

The pain grounded him.

He took in a deep, steady breathe, and tried to loosen his shoulders. He snatched a S.T.A.R Labs sweater from the closet, satisfied that it reached below his waist. He slipped it on and then – He just stood there. He was so busy panicking about what to wear, that he didn’t stop to think what his next step was.

He was turning in a slow circle, eyes darting around the bedroom, when he heard a noise from the driveway.

Panic seized him. He ran to the bedroom window and pulled the curtain. His heart dropped when he noticed the lights of Joe’s car turning off, as he stepped out of his car and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no,” Barry muttered under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, and bit his lip. He had to think fast. What was he going to do? What was he going to _say_? For a split-second, he considered running. Simply gathering his speed and running. He could see it in his mind’s eye. His fingers crackling with energy, raw power coursing to his body, Joe climbing up the stairs and passing by his bedroom, just as he disappeared in a wisp of smoke. He shook his head, dislodging the thought, however enticing it appeared. He couldn’t. He had to face Joe sooner or later.

 _Then, why not later?_ A small voice peeped inside of him. Barry choked down on the thought.

He dropped his head and forced out an exhale. He had to confront him, whether he liked it or not. He fled S.T.A.R Labs without so much as a goodbye, and his friends were probably worried.

Barry had to do this.

He walked into the hallway and down the stairs, legs straining with every step, begging him to run as far away as possible. Then, he just waited.

Boots scraped on the doormat, and then the jingle of a key in the lock and the door was opening. Barry had to tense his legs to keep himself from bolting. Joe crossed the threshold and deposited his keys on the console. His back was turned, and he still hadn't seen Barry.

Barry’s lips parted, and his insides were choking. He couldn’t remember how to speak. He licked his lower lip, tongue heavy and tacky with saliva.

“Hey,” Barry croaked, and in that sliver of a moment, between him speaking and Joe whipping around, Barry regretted not running. He regretted every second he spent convincing himself that this was going to be okay, because things were clearly very not okay. The only thing holding him up was his death grip on the banister.

The look of shock of Joe’s face only lasted a second. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice was low and angry. “We've been searching for you for three hours. Cisco said that you just disappeared from S.T.A.R Labs.”

Barry's heart was stuck in the throat. He told himself that he could handle this, he knew how to appease an angry Joe. Late nights spent stargazing outside with his telescope and returning home way past his curfew, had taught him a thing or two - yeah, he knew how to deal with anger.

“Sorry,” he started, but his voice came out weak and scratchy. “I wasn't feeling too well.”

“So you just up and ran without saying a word?” Joe exclaimed, spreading his arms, disbelief written all over his face.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again. Cisco's worried eyes flashed through his mind. His throat clicked as he swallowed. “I felt like I was coming down with something.”

“Did something happen to you?” Joe’s features softened. “You've been acting strange ever since your last meeting with Savitar.”

No. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He couldn't handle a worried Joe, couldn't see the hurt in his eyes, without folding himself in half, and displaying all his feelings out in the open. He walked into the living room and sunk down on the sofa. He had to focus on his breathing - slowly, in and out - or he was going to lose all control of himself.

Heavy footsteps, and then the sofa dipped, as Joe sat down calmly next to him. Barry had to stop himself from bolting. After a pregnant pause, he angled his body towards Barry.

“This thing that's going on here,” he waved a hand in between them. “It's the equivalent of teenage you, getting beat up bad after school, and then coming home, and trying to convince me that everything is all right.”

Barry pressed his fingers to his mouth, and shook his head.

 _Please don_ _’t push it, Joe,_ he begged inside of him. _Just let it go._

“What? Are you disagreeing?” Joe prodded him.

Barry joined his hands together and leaned his elbows on his knees with hunched shoulders. He stared resolutely at the floorboards. “No, you’re right,” he replied in a shaky voice. “I haven’t been the same, and I don’t think I ever will be.”

A calloused hand landed on his, and Barry's mind short-circuited. That was the hand that - when he - Barry yanked back his hand, and sprung to his feet, feeling disgusted with himself, like somehow he was tainting Joe with his perversion. He paced restlessly across the living room carpet. Joe, who had no idea what had happened to him - no, what he had _done_ \- Barry glanced back just in time to see a look of hurt cross his face, furrowing his eyebrows. He stopped in his tracks, feeling a dull pang in his chest.

Joe rubbed his mouth with the palm of his hand, beard bristling beneath his fingers, and got to his feet. “I'm not going to push you,” he said in a quivering voice, shaking his head sadly. “That's not how I am, you know,” and he flashed a self-deprecating smile, like he hated himself for being so weak, for not being good enough. He swallowed, his throat rippling, and his glassy eyes wavered as he searched for his next words. “But if - if you ever need to talk to me, I'm here, Bar. I'll always be here. Even if all you need is a shoulder to cry on,” he said through trembling lips. Barry’s chest was hurting, it was a searing pain that made him think of clogged arteries, it took his breath away. “I’m going to lose my daughter soon. I don't want to also lose my son.” And something broke inside of Barry.

A sob ripped out of him, loud and needy. He felt like he was going to crumble on the hardwood floor like a house of cards.

His legs buckled and then strong, steady arms wrapped around him, and he was bathed in warmth and the familiar scent of Joe's cologne. His arms rose to clutch at the broad back, and then he was crying.

Barry couldn't remember the last time he'd cried so hard, and for a moment, with his eyes squeezed shut, it was like he was suspended on the abyss of space and time. He was eleven years old, crawling into Joe's bed in the dead of the night, and crying for everything that he’d lost: a mother, a father, a home.

Joe was talking, a constant ramble of _everythingwillbeokay_ and _letitallout_ , his baritone voice washing over him, settling deep in his bones. One hand rubbed soothingly up and down his back, comforting him, and the other rose to squeeze the back of his neck. In a knee-jerk reaction, Barry let out a broken moan and hunched his shoulders defensively. Joe released him like he'd been burned, and instead rested his hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t know how long he cried, it felt like an eternity, but once he’d quieted down to hiccups, he felt heavy and sleepy, body languid for the first time in weeks. The image of Savitar rose at the edge of his mind, terrifying and daunting, but was quickly pushed away by the warmth of Joe's presence. Barry sniffled and rubbed his nose against Joe's shoulder.

“The shirt is a lost cause, you might as well wipe the rest of your snot on it,” Joe sniped good-naturedly.

He looked at Joe's shoulder, and surely enough, there was huge wet spot. He laughed shakily, and Joe quirked a small smile.

“Listen, I don't know what you're going through, and I understand if you don't want to talk about it. But you're going to get up, wash your face, and then I'm going to haul your ass to S.T.A.R Labs to face the music. The gang was really worried about you.” Barry tensed again, and Joe raised his hand to grab him by the neck, then thought better about it, and placed it on his shoulder. Barry was embarrassed at how relieved he was.

“But what just happened here,” Joe continued, black eyes darting around the living room. “It's between you and me. Nobody has to know. So you're just going to look your friends in the eye, say sorry, and then we're going to move on, okay?”

Barry’s chest was going to burst. He didn’t deserve any of this – not after what he did. He nodded and hugged Joe hard, tried to show him without words how grateful he was, and how sorry, too. If Joe knew what had happened, how Barry had – he let out a strangled sound, as he tightened his arms around Joe.

He didn’t fucking deserve any of this.


	5. Face The Music

Barry felt like he was going to spontaneously combust on the windshield. The peace and tranquility that he’d felt in Joe’s loving arms had all but evaporated, leaving behind a toxic mix of dread and uncertainty.

His foot jiggled nervously up and down, as he glanced once again at the time on the dashboard. It wasn’t even one o’clock yet, which meant that only four hours had elapsed since his meeting with Savitar. Barry dug his fingers into his thighs, blunt nails scraping against the rough denim of his jeans.

Time was passing slower than the clouds creeping across the sky, it was crawling at a cruel pace, where every tick of the clock seemed to draw out for an eternity. The realization was terrifying, it was unnerving and debilitating: he was going to have to live every second, every minute, every hour, knowing what had happened with Savitar. He could see it now, clear as day. The memory was engraved in his mind, etched into his bones, never to be swept away in the sea of other mundane events in his life.

“I'm going to throw you out the car, if you don't stop that,” Joe said casually.

Barry’s foot stopped. He took a deep breath, and shifted in his seat, wincing at the way his sweater stuck against the dip of his back. It was so _hot_ in the car. The heat was pressing down on him, heavy and oppressive, he felt like he was suffocating. He fiddled with the air conditioning and aimed the vent in his direction, cool blast blowing against his face.

Joe sighed. “Barry, I haven't seen you this nervous since you decided to ask Sarah Miller to the school prom.”

Barry groaned. “Please don't remind me. I was sweating so much, I had to stuff tissues in my armpits.”

Joe's low-pitched laughter was like a balm over his heart. “I never told you, but her father actually came to see me the next day, while you were at school.”

“What?” he asked, turning towards Joe. “Why?”

“He wanted to size me up,” Joe said, lips tugging into a smile. “Said a boy was only as honorable as the man who raised him.” He sneaked a quick look at Barry, he could see the pride in his eyes. “So, we had a few beers together on the patio, and I recounted to him all the best stories of Barry Allen.”

“You're kidding me,” Barry said softly.

Joe hummed. “I told him about that time you nearly burned down the kitchen, because you wanted to impress Iris with a batch of her favorite cupcakes. The time you faked my signature on her school report card, because you didn't want her to get in trouble and grounded.” Then, he laughed as he recalled, “And remember that time you blew up the garage with one of your wacky experiments.”

“Those are the like the worst stories,” he exclaimed, offended on behalf of his younger self, but he couldn’t restrain the giddy laugh vibrating in his chest.

“Yeah well, Sarah’s dad couldn't stop laughing,” he shook his head, recalling the events with a twinkle in his eye. “But then, I also told him about the entire summers that you spent outside manning your lemonade stand. About how you always stood up for others, even when you knew your neck was on the line,” he pulled the handbrake, and Barry was surprised to see that they'd already arrived. Joe twisted the key in the ignition, and turned to Barry, “and how you always, always saw the good in people, Barry.”

Barry’s smile died on his lips. He turned his head in direction of S.T.A.R Labs, its windows reflecting light in the distance, and sighed tiredly. “There’s no good in Savitar, just like there wasn’t any good in Eobard Thawne or Hunter Zolomon.”

He opened the door and stepped out into the fresh air. As they walked silently to S.T.A.R Labs, Barry hunched his shoulders, awful sensation creeping up his neck again.

When they passed by the Time Vault, he slowed his pace, limbs going cold with dread. Could there be any evidence left in the room? His thoughts screeched to a halt, and for a moment, it felt like his heart was going to phase out of his chest. No, he told himself, there were no cameras in the room. There was no way anybody could find out. He forced one foot in front of the other, trying to calm down his speeding heartbeat.

As they approached the Cortex, he could hear the exchange of frantic voices over the sound of the fast _tap tap tap_ of the keyboard. The reality of the situation slammed into him once again. The meeting with Savitar was only this morning, he wasn't _ready_ to face them. What was he even going to tell them?

His eyes sought out Joe, walking two feet in front of him, wide shoulders rippling with every step. He just wanted to snatch him by the back of his jacket, and dig his heels into the ground, like he was twelve years old all over again and didn’t want to go to the dentist.

Joe must have felt his inner turmoil, because his gait slowed, and he turned around to smile softly at Barry. When Barry caught up with him, Joe placed a steady hand on his lower back and led him to the entrance of the Cortex.

It was as though everyone had a sixth sense, because the moment he crossed the threshold, the clattering stopped, and silence reigned over them. Barry only regained his bearings enough to realize that everybody was staring at him. Cisco’s jaw had dropped, half-chewed Twinkie laying on his tongue, Iris looked stricken, Julian’s eyes were bulging out of his skull. Even HR’s drum sticks had fallen from his limp hands.

“So,” Joe broke the silence. “I found Barry,” he added needlessly, and then the room exploded all at once.

“Where the hell have you _been_ -”

“We were so _worried_ -”

“What _happened_ to you -”

He couldn’t handle all the questions. Somehow, the cacophony of voices steeled something inside of him.

“Okay, enough.” His words echoed through the room, and everybody fell silent.

Barry cleared his throat and raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, and then changed his mind. He settled for crossing his arms over his chest.

“Savitar was there. I was running and -” He blew out a long, shaky breath. “He caught me as I entered the Speed Force.”

“But how did he find you?” Julian asked, surprised.

He scrunched up his nose and frowned at the floor, pondering the question. He sifted through many possible answers but discarded each one. “I think that since he derives his power from the Speed Force, he’s aware whenever somebody enters or exits through it.” There was no other explanation. It was either that, or he’d injected a tracking chip in Barry. He shook his head; the thought was absurd.

“So, what happened?” Iris encouraged him softly.

 _There_ _’s no reason for them not to believe you,_ Barry had to remind himself. He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing happened. He let me off with a warning, told me never to return to Flashpoint again.”

“That's not what your vitals said,” Cisco chipped in, voice hard.

Barry’s eyes snapped up to Cisco, who was staring daggers at him.

“You were fine up until your last lap around the ring, and then your vitals just went ballistic.” He leaned over his desk and turned his computer screen towards the rest of the room, there was a 2D figure in the shape of Barry's suit, with a box at the top right of the screen that said 0:20.

Barry’s heart sank to the floor, numbness spreading all over his body, and his stomach convulsed - he was going to _puke_. Everybody's attention was riveted to the screen. His first instinct was to flash forward and smash the screen to pieces, but then Cisco pressed on the key and the video played.

The indication of time was actually a countdown. A red circle appeared on the suit, and as the clock ticked down, it spread in specific areas before shrinking and relocating on other parts of his body. Barry’s eyes snapped to the side of the screen, where the measures for his physiological levels went up and down like a broken gauge.

He kept waiting for incriminating evidence to spring up like a jack in the box, crude and terrifying, however the video was soon over, and they were left staring at a black screen.

“I don't understand whatever it is I just saw,” Joe said, and Barry was glad he wasn't the only one. But there was also something else bothering him.

“Why is the video only twenty seconds long?” Barry interrupted.

“That's how long it took us to find you from the moment you stopped running,” Cisco said.

Barry stared at him blankly. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did the attack last only twenty seconds? That was impossible. It must have been a good twenty _minutes_.

He approached the keyboard and played the video again, eyes darting across the screen, tracking the movement of the circles, analyzing them. He replayed the video two, three more times, until he could figure out a pattern to what he was seeing.

The red circle started in his calves, that must have been the twinge in his legs, not yet fully recovered, and then it shifted to his torso - when Savitar slammed into him and yanked him out of the Speed Force - his head, when his skull cracked against the wall - and then, Barry inhaled sharply, as a red circle developed in his lower belly, before expanding up to his chest, and his neck. His eyes looked at his oxygen levels, rising steadily, until it looked like he was hyperventilating.

“I still don’t understand,” Joe said, and the others hummed in agreement.

Barry straightened himself, his mind reeling. He hadn’t even noticed that Savitar had slowed down time. He had done it so seamlessly, Barry hadn’t even felt a shift in the atmosphere. He picked his next words carefully. “Did you happen to catch my earpiece?”

Cisco shook his head slowly. “It was static. That's how we knew that something was wrong, your vitals were going haywire and you weren't answering your earpiece anymore.”

“Is it possible that Savitar could have interfered with the communications?” HR suggested, sipping coffee from his mug. Cisco gave him a deadpan look that screamed _What do you think?_

“But what about the vitals?” Iris peeped in. “It can't just be Savitar's energy interfering with Barry. There's some kind of pattern there.”

Barry couldn’t take this anymore. He felt like he was going to throw up all over again, he could see it in his mind’s eye – could see himself hunching over and vomiting all over the floor. It was right there, stuck in his throat, he had to swallow hard to hold it back.

But nobody said anything. They all stared at the screen like it held all the answers. It was _right there_ , in front of them, and then –

“So what do we do now?” Wally asked quietly.

Cisco started explaining that they needed to find a way to buff up security in S.T.A.R Labs, but Barry didn’t care, he needed to leave _now_. He tried to remember what a normal person would say when they had things to do.

He cleared his throat. “I need the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Was it weird that he was announcing that? He looked at the others, they continued their conversation like he hadn’t said anything at all. Only Iris looked up and nodded.

Barry let out a harsh breath, as he locked the door behind himself. He pulled down the toilet seat, sat down and covered his face with his hands. He couldn’t identify the feelings inside of him – relief, shame, disgust – they were too many, warring inside of him like a tsunami.

It was like his entire world had turned upside down. This morning, he had been full of hope, confident in his ability to travel back in time and save Iris. Now, he was a quivering mess hiding in the bathroom. He blew out another breath, and leaned forward.

He had to think rationally. As much as he liked to hide his head in the sand, he had to face the facts. First of all, he had to scratch everything he thought he knew about Savitar. He’d assumed that he was crazy, that all those years that he’d spent trapped in the Speed Force had somehow fried his brains. But now his perspective had shifted, there were more layers to him that he ever could have fathomed. Yes, Savitar wanted to be in control, always in control, however there was something else, a conviction, a sense of _righteousness_ in his search for dominance.

 _Oh, now you_ _’re just trying really hard to piss him off._ That’s what Savitar had said after he’d snatched the Cosmic Time Capsule from Barry’s belt. Somehow, everything was connected to this metahuman from the future, as if the potential threat in some way justified Savitar’s monstrosity. The problem was that Barry didn’t know jack shit about the metahuman. Savitar had been vague in his description, and he had given zero information about his powers.

And then, there was that other thing.

Barry squeezed his eyes shut, as he relived the memory. He knew it was a normal reaction. Fear and arousal had heightened his senses, and he’d reacted like any red-blooded male. He’d had enough training on the job to know that victims of sexual assault could have an orgasm.

But the comparison sat wrong with him, somehow his case felt different. He didn’t feel like a victim; he was The Flash, a metahuman with superhuman speed, and supposedly the fastest man alive. He wasn’t _weak_ by any stretch.

He felt like he was trying to fit two pieces from different puzzles. He couldn’t reconcile his experience with the textbook knowledge that he had of sexual assault victims. This wasn’t an ordinary case. He thought about how Savitar had used his kinetic energy to bind him against the wall, how he’d been helpless against them, and then the way he’d reacted to Savitar’s touch -

The mental image had him scrambling for the sink, and retching bile. He groaned, as his throat burned from the acidity, and ran the tap for a few seconds to wash it down.

He lifted his head, and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were a bit sunken, face a little pale, but otherwise he looked the same as he always did. The realization made him angry. After everything that had happened, he didn’t _feel_ the same. He wasn’t the Barry Allen of this morning. He raised his hand and was about to rub the back of his neck, when he froze.

Barry angled his back in direction of the mirror. There were no wounds, no traces, no bruises. He poked it and then rolled the skin between his thumb and finger, in search of a jagged edge or a foreign feeling.

Back in the Cortex, the thought had crossed his mind, but he’d dismissed it as absurd. He remembered that first night after confronting Savitar, when he’d bitten the back of his neck, or what he’d _thought_ was a bite. Could Savitar have injected a chip in his neck? Barry’s stomach swooped - that would mean that when Savitar intercepted him at the Speed Lab, and Barry had responded – he squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid to continue that line of thought, but he _had_ to, because if it meant what he thought it did, then it wasn’t his fault, _none_ of this was his fault.

Could that have been kinetic energy coursing through his body?

Could Savitar have somehow controlled his limbs, and therefore his reaction?

He remembered Lisa Snart, and the bomb that her father had implanted in her neck. Cisco had created a device that could identify the location of the bomb and retrieve it with a press of a finger. Barry released the meaty part of his neck, and tried to remember where they’d stowed the device. He was pretty sure it was in Cisco's workshop. He rubbed his forehead, and wondered how he could get it without arousing any suspicions. He couldn’t tell the others without having to explain everything else.

Barry unlocked the door with shaking hands, and tried to regain control of his heartbeat, as he walked to the Cortex. When he arrived, it seemed like the team had dispersed. Cisco was pointing at a map on his computer screen, discussing the security of S.T.A.R Labs with HR, and Iris was sitting on a stool close to the medical bay, typing on her phone. She must have been waiting for him because she looked up when he entered the room.

“Hey,” she said, standing up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Barry glanced quickly at Cisco - he didn't look like he was going to leave soon - and nodded jerkily. She led him into the hallway, her high heels clicking on the polished floor. When they were out of earshot, she crossed her arms and leaned sideways against the wall.

Iris was never one to beat around the bush; true to herself, she went straight to the point. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to return to Flashpoint?”

He couldn’t keep his mind off the machine, so he was completely blindsided by the question. Barry straightened himself and looked at her properly for the first time since he arrived. She looked _tired_ , smudge of mascara at the corner of her eye, and hair a little frizzy in the way that told him that she’d had a long day.

“I knew you wouldn’t have agreed,” but what he meant to say was _I_ _’m sorry I couldn’t save you._

“Of course I wouldn’t have agreed,” Iris said with sad eyes. “You were planning to remove yourself from my life. Had it ever occurred to you that I am who I am thanks to you?”

No, he was sure it was the other way around. He took a step forward. “If we had never met, you would never have been in this situation in this first place.”

“It’s not your fault if I die. You are not Savitar, okay?”

“What if I am?” Barry cut in, and he could see the surprise in her eyes. “What if I do become Savitar?”

Iris tilted her head. “Why would you think that?”

Barry scoffed, and looked away. He didn’t know how much he could tell Iris without exposing himself. “That’s his plan, isn’t it? His plan is to break me, so that he can create himself. Well, I already feel broken, and you’re not even gone yet.” He turned to Iris. “What does that say about the future?”

She drew closer, and placed a hand gently on his elbow. But when she spoke, her voice was fierce. “You don’t see it now, but you will recover from this. I know that right now, it seems like nothing will ever get better, but Barry, I believe in you. You’ll find a way to make something good come out of it.”

He shook his head. “Savitar, you don’t know him. He has no boundaries. He’s sick in the head. If you die, he’s not going to just _leave_ me alone. He’ll find a way to slither his way into my life, and destroy everything that I have left.”

Iris’s eyebrows knitted together, forehead creasing in confusion. “Did something happen with him?”

Barry’s breath caught in his throat. “No,” he said a little forcefully, and she looked at him in alarm. _You_ _’d never forgive me if you knew._ “No,” in a quieter voice. “I guess I’m just frustrated. I thought we would have been closer to finding a solution by now.”

Iris stared at him for a few seconds, before nodding slowly. “Me too,” she admitted quietly, and fuck, Barry was so _stupid_.

He could see it now. Iris wasn’t tired, she was _afraid._ What he’d thought were signs of fatigue were actually signs of a troubled mind. He could see her sifting her fingers anxiously through her hair and wiping tears from her eyes, as every day presumably brought her closer to her death.

Barry felt a surge of protectiveness. Without warning, he flashed forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Iris made a surprised sound, and then sighed, body going lax against his. They stood there for a long while, soaking up strength in each other’s arms.

Finally, Iris loosened her hold on Barry, and sighed. “I need to wrap up a few things at work. See you tonight?”

He nodded, and tucked a hair behind her ear. Tonight, he would give her all the attention that she deserved.

“See you later.”

But first he needed to get his hands on Cisco's machine.


	6. Just Breathe

* * *

At the end, he couldn’t handle waiting at S.T.A.R Labs. HR had retired early, but Cisco had stayed behind, adamant on tackling a few security issues around the lab.

So Barry went to work, hoping that the meta _du jour_ would keep him busy until nighttime. He chewed the inside of his cheek, as he flipped through the folder that Joe had left on his desk. A 35-year old man had been found in a semi-comatose state on Roosevelt Avenue; no sign of a physical injury or a drug overdose, no health problems either.

 _Meta or not meta?_ Joe had asked in a sticky note.

Julian had already reviewed the file, and scribbled a few notes here and there. Now it was Barry’s turn to examine it, but as he stared at the results of the brain scan, he found that he couldn’t concentrate, too overwhelmed by the sea of emotions raging inside of him. His thoughts were stuck on repeat, like a broken kaleidescope - the meeting with Savitar, the chip, _Iris_ \- constant waves of realization, self-doubt and hopelessness, crashing into him over and over again until it felt like his lungs were burning for oxygen.

He was so focused on keeping his breathing under control, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone pinged with a message from Iris.

_Hey, I just finished up. I'd like to spend some alone time with my dad. Is that okay with you?_

Barry stared at his phone, not understanding, and then when he did, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded: Iris was saying her goodbyes. This was actually happening. He covered his face with his hands and forced out an exhale, heart hammering in his chest. He had to hold it together, he had to cling to the last shred of sanity in his mind, or else he was going to splinter in a thousand pieces. His fingers were numb when he typed his reply.

 _Of course. When do you think you'll_ _be done?_

Her answer came immediately. _Around 9 o_ _’clock? Are you sure it’s okay?_

He glanced at the time; it was seven o’clock. At least now he would have time to go to S.T.A.R Labs and retrieve the device - _who cares about the chip, Iris was going to die tomorrow,_ a voice screamed inside of him - and suddenly Barry hated himself. He was surprised by the depth of the feeling, it was like an endless pit of self-loathing. Iris was going to die tomorrow and here he was thinking about Savitar and some stupid chip in his neck. His priorities were all messed up. He leaned forward and hugged himself, his stomach twisting and tying itself into knots. He was going to throw up all over again, could feel it climbing up his throat.

But fuck, he had to snap out of it, he couldn’t continue like this, he’d never _survive_. He could feel himself disintegrating with every tick of the clock, a part of him chipping away the closer he got to tomorrow. He gave himself a few hard slaps on the cheek, and shook his head.

He sent Iris a message saying that it was okay, that he’d see her later, and then forced himself to return to the case at hand.

He had to reread every sentence three or four times, and even then his comprehension level wasn’t optimal, but little by little he made progress on the case, jotting down notes as he went along. By the time he finished studying the report of the first responding officer, it was already eight thirty. No way was Cisco still in S.T.A.R Labs.

Barry put the folder on Julian’s desk and didn’t waste a second, he gathered his speed, kinetic energy vibrating through his fingers, and flashed out of there. He ran as fast as he could to S.T.A.R Labs, heart bouncing with every step. Against his will, a seed of hope planted itself in his chest - _finally, he was going to know the truth_ \- he knew that he needed to squash it down in case he didn’t get the answer that he expected, but he couldn’t help it. It wrapped itself around him and lulled him into a much needed sense of security.

When he arrived to S.T.A.R Labs, he slowed down until he reached the threshold of the Cortex at normal speed, and then popped his head into the room. Cisco wasn’t there, and his computer was turned off.

Barry flashed immediately to the workshop and did the same there. When it was all clear, he headed straight for the cupboard where he suspected the device was stored and opened it with trembling hands.

He came across all kinds of upgraded equipments: gauntlets, glasses, watches, cameras, necklaces, there was even a pair of steel-toed shoes, but not the machine he was looking for - he frowned to himself, he was so _sure_ it had been there - he tried the next cupboard, it was full of materials, polyler kevlar weave, thermal threaded rubber, dwarf star alloy-reinforced fabric - he slammed it shut, and went on the next one - nano-liquid circuitry, defibrillators, and lots and lots of wires - Barry growled in frustration.

He flashed to the other side of the room, and searched over there - so many inventions all over the place - ballistic shields, modified tasers, power-dampening cuffs - and then, he caught a glimpse of a silver object in the back of the cupboard. He let out a noise of triumph, and picked it up hurriedly. It was just as he remembered it; bulky and gun-shaped, with a rubber grip and a thick metal tube mounted on the nuzzle.

Barry’s eyes darted around the room, and he blew out a breath, as he sat down on the nearest stool and held the device awkwardly with both hands behind his neck. He pushed the nuzzle against his nape, and once he had a steady grip, released his left hand and inched his finger towards the button. He gritted his teeth, it was a hard reach, and the machine was heavier than it looked, he just needed to tighten his grip a little around the nuzzle –

“Hello,” a gravelly voice said, and Barry jerked out of his seat, nearly dropping the machine. He whipped around, heart hammering in his chest.

It was HR, with a soft smile on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. Barry’s eyes roamed over his body, from the lounge pants and cotton t-shirt, to the cow-licks in his hair and the pillow imprints on his temple. The drum sticks were buried deep in his pants pocket.

“Do you sleep here?” Barry exclaimed in surprise.

HR chuckled, voice rough with sleep. “Yes, well I didn’t want to bother any of you when I arrived here.” He nodded behind him. “I’ve been sleeping at S.T.A.R Labs.”

Barry flushed in embarrassment. He hadn’t even thought to ask him. He’d just assumed – What? What had he assumed? HR came from another Earth. He had no family, no friends to take him in. What did he expect?

Barry was an idiot.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said, fidgeting in his seat, and then he offered meekly, “You’re welcome to sleep over at my house.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I was just having my evening nap. Anyways, I’m happy here with my unlimited coffee,” he raised his mug, as he slowly walked towards Barry, “and I’ve made myself a nice little nest on the second floor.” He wedged his hip against the desk, and asked in a nonchalant tone, “What are you doing?”

Barry looked down at the gun between his hands and bit his lip. He could carry on with the masquerade, or he could tell the truth and get the help that he needed. Somehow, the truth seemed more compelling. “I think there’s a chip in the back of my neck, and this machine can help me find it.”

HR hummed as though it was an entirely normal thing to suspect, and placed his mug quietly on the desk. He extended his hands in direction of the machine, and raised his eyebrows. The meaning was clear.

Barry nodded jerkily and released the machine. “Just hold it steady against my neck, and press on this button, okay?”

HR grabbed the gun slowly and stepped behind Barry. He dipped his chin to his chest, and shivered when he felt the cold nuzzle of the machine against the nape of his neck.

“Just move it around a bit,” Barry remembered to add.

HR did as he said, and after half a minute of tense silence, he asked, “I’ve been pressing on the button. Is it supposed to beep or something?”

Barry let out a shaky breath, and then shot to his feet, unable to keep still. It’s okay, he knew this was a possibility all along. He paced back and forth, racking his brains, trying to make sense of what had happened. So there wasn’t a chip in his neck. Perhaps Savitar was truly connected to the Speed Force, and he could tell whenever somebody entered it or exited it. But then - this meant that this morning at the Speed Lab - Barry’s thoughts screeched to a halt. _No._ He covered his face with his hands. _No, there had to be a chip in his neck._ He couldn’t think of the implications of what it meant if there wasn’t.

“Try it again,” Barry asked, as he pushed the machine further in HR’s hands. He plunked down in the chair and jiggled his leg nervously.

HR didn’t argue and set the machine once again against his skin. Barry sat quietly, fingers digging into his thighs. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and with each second that passed, he felt his insides squeeze tighter, his breath come faster. He didn’t – he didn’t feel good. Damn it, his chest _hurt_.

Nothing was happening. The machine wasn’t doing anything.

He pushed away the machine and hunched forward over his knees, face contorting in pain. It felt like his entire body had been dunked in ice cold water, forcing the air out of his lungs - like he was dying _,_ right here in S.T.A.R Labs - he let out a strangled sound, and then HR was kneeling in front of him, telling him to take a deep breath. He shook his head - _No_. How could he breathe – fuck, why wasn’t HR calling an ambulance – lean hands framed his face, and HR’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears.

“Barry,” HR’s deep voice pierced through the veil. “I need you to listen to me.”

He moaned brokenly and tried to hunch his back again. His teeth were chattering so violently, he thought they might break. Barry needed a doctor, and why couldn’t HR see that there was something wrong with him - he couldn’t _breathe_ \- strong hands pushed against his shoulders again.

“Concentrate on my voice,” HR insisted, shaking him slightly. “Keep concentrating. I need to you to breathe with me, okay? Breathe two times. Come on, let’s go.”

Barry sucked in a loud breath, and it felt mechanical, like he’d forgotten how to breathe on his own, and then he exhaled at the same time as HR, choppy breath squeezing out of him. No, no, he pushed HR away, this wasn’t working, none of it was working - he couldn’t do this - how was breathing going to help when he was _dying_ –

“No, don’t let your mind wander. Come on, breathe with me. You’re having a panic attack.”

 _Panic attack._ He remembered that word. It brought up memories of polished black tiles and shiny red lockers. _It means your body is going through a fight or flight reaction,_ the school nurse had explained to him, after he’d passed out for the third time that semester in the gym locker room.

“Just like that,” HR reassured him. “You’re doing great.” He wiped Barry’s cheeks with his thumb. “Keep going.”

 _Do you hear that, Barry?_ Iris used to tell him, bushy hair framing her round face. _That_ _’s the sound of Mr. Jackson’s dog barking. Do you hear him?_

Barry squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the low pitch of HR’s voice, the smell of his cologne, an earthy outdoors scent with a hint of vanilla, the way his steady breath brushed against Barry’s chin. He kept breathing in and out until it no longer felt like he was fighting for each breath.

HR was still talking, repeating the same words over and over again. His voice grounded Barry, snapped him back to the present, and little by little, it felt like a fog was being lifted from his mind. Slowly he became aware of the hard linoleum ground beneath his feet, the sweat that gathered at the small of his back, the rawness of his tear-streaked cheeks.

As HR rubbed his arm, he continued to breathe in and out, and then there was a pressure on his shoulder, and HR was drawing him into an embrace. Barry let himself be manhandled, too exhausted to fight against it. He burrowed his face into HR’s neck, and then he was choking on tears again. He couldn’t stop crying even if he wanted to; it gushed out of him like a broken dam.

As the tears streamed down his face, Barry wondered when his life had turned into such a shitshow that he needed to cry twice in one day. HR was a solid presence against him, warm and reassuring, and it just drove home what Barry already knew. He didn’t deserve any of this, because if everyone knew what had happened, what he had _done_ … He drew back, wiping his face with his sleeves.

“I’m sorry,” Barry said, wishing that HR would understand.

HR scoffed gently, as he placed his smooth palm over Barry’s hand. “This is what friends are for.” Barry looked away with tears in his eyes, ashamed at himself for accepting the simple comfort. “Was that your first time having a panic attack?”

Barry sniffled, and shook his head. “No,” he admitted in a small voice. “I used to get them sometimes when I was a teenager. But it’s been a while.”

HR hummed. “Panic attacks have a tendency to creep up on you when you’re least prepared. You think that Savitar placed a chip in your neck.”

Barry nodded jerkily.

“You’re upset that the machine didn’t find it. Why?”

He bit his lip. “I think that Savitar’s been controlling me.”

“What have you done?”

Barry’s throat closed up. He concentrated on breathing, but there was a lump in his throat. He couldn’t - he couldn’t even think about it. What would HR think of him? Barry had come apart at the hands of the one person who had vowed to destroy his life. Just the thought of it made him feel nauseous, bile clawing its way up his throat.

HR must have sensed his inner turmoil, because he backpedaled gently. “You know what, this discussion can wait for another day, when you’re feeling up to it. How does that sound?”

Truth be told, it sounded _awful_. He couldn’t imagine himself telling anyone about his encounter with Savitar.

“Come on, get up now. Let me make you some coffee.”

Barry stood up, head spinning a little, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I have to get back to the loft, Iris is waiting for me,” Barry trailed off, uncertainly. He didn’t know how to bring it up; he didn’t want the rest of the gang catching wind of his late-night visit to S.T.A.R Labs.

HR’s lips quirked in a small smile, and he said, “I won’t tell, if you don’t tell Francisco that I’m the one who’s been stealing his shirts.”

Barry’s eyes dropped down to his torso, and sure enough, now that he paid attention, the shirt he was wearing _was_ a little too tight around the shoulders and - he squinted - there was a small Gryffindor emblem on the right-hand corner of his chest.

It was a silly thing to suggest, but Barry appreciated the sentiment behind it. He nodded in relief.

 

***

 

When Barry returned home, Iris took one look at him and gave him a hug. She didn’t ask him where he’d been, or what he’d been up to, but the meaning was clear. If he wanted to talk about it, she would listen.

But he had nothing to say. It was their last evening together, he wasn’t going to ruin it for the both of them. He tried to set aside his grief, drown it in the sea of his emotions, and concentrate on her, but it proved harder said than done.

After dinner, they settled on the sofa and watched an episode of America's Got Talent. Iris wept silently when a 10-year old cancer patient wowed the jury with a beautiful rendering of _My Heart Will Go On_. But Barry knew that it was more than just the song, could see it in the way her chin wobbled, and the way her eyes glanced a little too often at the clock above the mantel.

Barry wished he could smash that clock to pieces.

When the credits rolled, Iris turned off the television and snuggled closer, laying her head on his shoulder. Barry tightened his arms around her, savoring the warmth that radiated through her skin, and placed a lingering kiss on her temple.

“Hey,” she said, left corner of her lips drooping a little.

“Hey,” Barry replied back, extending his hand and tucking her hair behind her ear. Iris pressed her forehead against his, and closed her eyes.

They stayed like that for a long time, while Barry focused on his breathing, careful to keep it under control. Now was not the time to let himself to be swept away, he had to stay strong for Iris’ sake. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her softly on the corner of her lips, trying to ground himself in reality, and then he was peppering her entire face with butterfly kisses, his lashes grazing her skin above his lips.

Iris moved, restless, and her hand landed on his thigh, she caressed him all the way to the knee, up and down, her thumb running along the inseam of his jeans. Barry's breath caught in his throat, stomach tying itself into knots - it didn’t mean anything, she wasn’t _trying_ anything - but then her thumb brushed against his cock, and Barry felt a surge of panic in his guts. He immediately pulled away, heart hammering in his chest.

“Oh my God, I'm sorry,” Iris was quick to apologize. “I thought you were making a move.”

“No,” he said, trying to calm down his racing heart. He swallowed thickly, and then realized what he had said. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean -”.

“It's okay,” she said hurriedly, and then she smiled sweetly. “Maybe -”

_Maybe another time._

Her smile dimmed and her eyes dropped to her knees, and for a while another image transposed on top of her. Fourteen-year old Iris, with bushy hair and braces, pretending that she wasn't afraid of the Headless Horseman after a late night viewing of Sleepy Hollow.

Barry decided then and there, that he wasn't going to let Savitar ruin his last night with Iris.

He surged forward and kissed her passionately on the mouth. She immediately responded, plump lips parting, tongue pushing eagerly against his. As he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, heat pooled in his groin, but there was also something else, a dirty feeling inside of him that he couldn’t shake off.

Iris released his lips, and panted, “If you don’t want - ”

Barry shushed her, and put pressure on her shoulders, until she lay flat on the sofa. If he stopped now, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He brushed his tongue one last time against hers and then moved to her neck, sucking softly on her skin, enough to leave a small bruise.

Slowly, he lowered his head to her chest, until he reached her breasts, she moaned when he mouthed her nipple through the thin fabric of her nightdress. He pulled down the collar of her dress, and nipped at her nipple, grazed it with his teeth, just the way she liked it. His left hand grabbed a handful of her other breast, squeezing rhythmically. Iris let out a small, breathy moan, and rolled her hips.

He lowered his arm, and in a swift move, had hiked up her dress, exposing her to the cool air of the living-room. He sat back to admire the view. She was wearing white panties, and they were drenched, dark spot growing and soaking the cotton fabric. He rubbed his thumb against her pussy, her breath hitched, a soft and needy sound, and she moved her hips to get more friction.

“Come on,” Iris said, as she pulled herself up, and reached for Barry’s pants. He stopped her hand mid-reach.

“No,” he said, cupping her cheek gently, but his heart was beating fast - so fucking fast, he thought it was going to phase out of his chest. “Just you.” He kissed her roughly and pushed her back against the sofa.

With one hand, he dumped all the cushions on the floor, and then slithered down on his belly, so that his face was directly positioned between her thighs. He bunched her underwear to one side, swollen pussy coming into view. He blew hot air against her, and her legs twitched; he loved it when she got impatient.

With the tip of his tongue, he traced the contour of her lips, her thighs jerked on his shoulders, a small aborted movement; he did it a few more times, teasing her, leading her on, until she let out a growl of frustration and pulled his hair _hard_. Barry went all in, he licked her with broad swipes, and then dipped his tongue inside of her, over and over, the same way he would have buried his cock if he’d fucked her.

Barry let go of her thighs and dipped his thumb inside of her, groaning as the smooth walls fluttered around the digit. He raised his left hand and stuffed three fingers into his mouth, sucking on them and coating them with saliva. Panting heavily, Iris watched him with heavy-lid eyes, rocked her hips against his thumb.

Then he descended one more time, swiped her with long, flat strokes of his tongue, before dipping two fingers in her cunt, and one in her ass.

Iris bared her throat and moaned brokenly. She loved when he used his speed during their lovemaking sessions, said it was like using a live vibrator. So he set a low-speed frequency to his hand, shoving his fingers in and out of her. Her toes curled, thighs shaking, and yes, he could tell that she was so _close_ \- he ramped up the speed, and then her pussy was tightening around his fingers and she was coming, whole body tensing and shuddering in pleasure.

Barry plunged his fingers as far as they could go, and nipped at her nipples, as her pussy clenched and unclenched around him. As she winded from her orgasm, her muscles loosened, and her entire body relaxed against the sofa cushions. He rose and kissed her languidly on the lips, tongue brushing slowly against hers.

He released her lips and burrowed his face in the crook of her neck, grateful that she didn’t offer to reciprocate, because at that moment, he was rock-hard in his jeans.

“I love you,” he whispered against her throat, as she ran her fingers through his hair.

 

***

 

That night, he made her come two more times with only just his tongue and his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

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